Our Welsh retreat is still lovely (really, it is, when it’s not tipping down with rain), but so very remote.
We’ve had to abandon driving our cars over the teeny-tiny bridge, following the A-team’s flat tyre on the day we arrived, and now leave our vehicles on a verge some distance away. This means getting in and out requires lugging 4 kids and at least 8 bags down a stony track and over a cattle grid, while dodging cow pats and sheep poo.
And I’m sure the sheep are laughing at us (not the horses, though, as they got fed sweets this evening so they’re our friends).
Mobile phone reception is non-existent and it’s only thanks to wi-fi that I remember civilisation exists (impressed, however, that wi-fi reaches these parts as I’m pretty sure that rubbish collectors, the postman, etc, don’t stand a chance).
Then, tonight, on discovering there was no hot water, we learnt that to control The Stanley (the central heating boiler that’s so clever it can do cooking as well, apparently), you have to:
“Open the door above the thermostat knobs and use a tool (normally found in the knife and fork tray) to turn shafts that push the baffles across and through the flame.”
They’ve got to be kidding????
Following yesterday’s saga with the very mean woman who caused such a lot of stress over getting in to the place, we are, of course, all walking round with our shoes on and jumping on the beds.
No photos today – I’m too busy going cold turkey from shops, restaurants, take-aways, Waitrose and warm weather.